


Hearth

by Clementine19



Category: The Last of Us (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Not beta'd we die like men, PWP I guess?, joel x reader - Freeform, joel/reader - Freeform, oops that's just fluff but you happen to be fucking at the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26522146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clementine19/pseuds/Clementine19
Summary: Fill for this ask~
Relationships: Joel (The Last of Us)/Reader, Joel/Reader
Kudos: 60





	Hearth

It’s freezing when you squint at the burned down fire over the top of your book, realizing you’d cocooned yourself late into the night again, a terrible idea if you lived in Jackson and had been barefoot when you’d first settled on the couch. The pinch of whisky you’d had to get to sleep had warmed you then, is empty now, and without Joel home there’s no boots nearby to steal.

Casting around, you sigh and gather your blanket and book, turning the light off and starting up the stairs.

You get into bed with the blanket around you, the sheets feeling too frigid to your touch. In the last week or so as winter had really clamped down, you’d actually started to straggle to bed knowing it was more bearable with Joel’s heat in it already, taking your time getting ready while he’d settle in. He’d caught you three nights in to the tactic, though, not wanting to drift off without you and crowding you away from the bathroom sink, drowsily tugging you to the bedroom.

Flopping gracelessly to Joel’s side of the bed, you breathe deep, agitated that you couldn’t precisely know when he’d be back. He had just gone to clear a town over with a few equally capable people, nothing they hadn’t done before, but the trip could vary, things could happen. You tried not to think about that bit, feeling around to get comfortable as if you truly could tonight. Barely tired, mostly seeking heat, you huff and kick off the covers, catching your feet in your slippers before going to get the shower warm. Maybe the heat would slow you down enough to rest.

Joel’s shower was unrealistically good—the only two planes of glass in the town that seemed to have survived twenty years—must have been new when the outbreak happened. He’d clearly worked through the parts of the house that needed repairs, but more impressively, carefully cleaned everything down until you could almost think it was _before_ if you caught it in the right light.

Darting your hand under the stream to test the temperature, you finally shed your clothes and jump into the now-steamed square, standing still like you’re trying to boil yourself back to warmth for long minutes.

You haven’t been cohabiting long, and it had happened rather sooner than you would have said yes to before the outbreak. Feeling silly for occupying two houses when you’d spent nearly a year in just one bed, you’d moved in and taken to each other’s rhythms like you’d been marking each other’s steps for years. Pushing your hair off of your face, the steam curling off of droplets of water on your skin remind you of him finding you early before patrol. Joel had wordlessly shedded his clothes, rushing to make his way in alongside you, not needing to linger on only watching.

You’d expected Joel to move slower than he did, taking his time each time you’d had him last night. Instead, though, he lifted you against the cold shower wall and you stilled with a chill as your back met it. He did his best to give buffer with his forearm across your back capped on your shoulder, other hand curled tight around your hip as he moves against your entrance, mouth leading yours.

You tilt your head back now, alone, fingers sliding down to evoke it more vividly, slipping inelegantly down the wall as your legs fall open. You’d been so sore that morning, but once he settled into a pace inside you he’d gone slow and circled your clit with his thumb, you bit his shoulder, hard.

You try to approximate the desperate version of him grasping at your breasts: less curious than when he took his time, more seeming to anchor him, mostly just _rough_. You miss the shape of Joel’s hands, instead, and drop both of your own to aid in scissoring three fingers in and out of yourself.

The door clicks, Joel’s form appearing in it, pausing on your unmistakable form through the steam. You cover half your face with one hand, covering the rest of yourself like he hadn’t flipped you over on this wall before, hands covering yours where you steadied yourself against the it while he brought you both apart in minutes.

“Don’t move,” his voice fills the small room, retreating into the hall, a series of clumps like his boots and backpack were being discarded before he appears again, closing the door behind him with one hand as his other gets to his belt.

Joel’s still undressing himself adroitly as he pries open the shower door, shoulder against the frame while he takes you in openly. You can’t help but feel a little cornered, worried he can see how shy it was beginning to make you even through the red flush caused by the steam and warmth.

Joel gives you a long, considerate look, irises barely rimmed in hazel. He shrugs off his shirt and steps out of his jeans, joining you and putting his hands on your hips, silent but captivated.

“There is not a single part of you I don’t want to taste right now, but—” Joel trails off, posture loosening a little as you cut him off with a kiss, eyes lingering shut a beat after you part. He backs into the column of water in the shower,shaking his head a little as his hair mats down, pushed off his forehead hastily as he rinses off, grabbing for soap and shuddering with relief at the warmth. You can feel his fingertips are still chilled, warmth slowly spreading through him enough that it begins to sink into your own chest. You give a grateful sigh, taking up soap and getting your hands on him with mostly caring intentions.

“Okay,” you acknowledge, kissing him slowly. Joel tastes of whisky, complementing you perfectly. He must have let the newer, younger group drag him to drinks once they’d gotten back to Jackson. You were glad he was finally bonding somewhat with the younger patrol groups he helped to train, letting himself like them once he felt confident enough they wouldn’t get ragdolled by a stalker and break his heart. This last excursion must have gone well, Joel’s mouth pliable and form relaxed as you scrape your fingertips down his front. 

You’re aware it might even be polite to let him shower before you devour him, but you can’t stand being interrupted and he looks excruciatingly hard already. You drop simply to your knees, taking him in your mouth, immediately regretting the decision with your knees dug into hard tile. Still, Joel’s past filling your mouth and you grip the rest of him in one hand. He catches himself on the wall behind him as his knees almost buckle from it. Joel’s wide hand grips your jaw surely but without force, urging you off.

“Please, bed, too fucking good after five days,” Joel mumbles against your mouth, stroking into it with his tongue and nipping the tip of yours.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you instruct heatedly, enjoying the flare of an inhale he gives when you stroke just under his ear.

When you step out and into a large towel, leaning forward to catch the water from your hair before wrapping it around your body, you notice the blurred outline of him watching you, movement on his own body stopped.

“Joel!” you chastise as you retreat, shivering before diving into the bed nearly from the hallway.

When he joins you he’s brushed his teeth—exactly the type of cute, anxious thing he’d do that made your heart clench. You also hoped it was because he was planning to actually sleep through the night immediately after you were done—sleep had been an accidental boon when it happened while he was gone, and you could guess he’d slept like hell alongside trails and streams for days.

Joel pins you under him, enfolding you so fully that his forearms cross along your back, palms brushing your shoulders. You carelessly grind against each other, trying to move your hips together just right to pull him inside of you, mouths languorous but focused. You thread your fingers into his hair and he pulls back decisively before sinking into in one fast motion. You groan contentedly, the shape of him realizing everything you’d wanted to emulate earlier.

His eyes flash a second of concern before your ankles lock behind his lower back and he fans a hand on your thigh, folding it up next to your chest. Joel slams into you, deep, and you whimper with the impact, hips arcing towards his.

“Missed—you,” you breathe into his ear, wanting more of this. You loved him close but almost wanted him harder, more confirmation that you hadn’t imagined it, that he was here fucking you into the mattress himself.

Seated deep inside of you, Joel pulls you upright in his lap, almost balancing you there while he draws the comforter around you both. You look down on him as you ride him, fingers stroking his temple. Joel looks exhausted but wonderful, all adoring focus on you and honest pleasure crossing dark features every few seconds. Maybe you could get him to stay in bed for the day, sleep awhile and pick up where you finish.

You trace his chest, the shape of his shoulders, draw a finger down his neck to his spine, kissing him whenever you can reach. Joel starts to shudder, looking up at you and accepting a thumb hooked in his mouth. You kiss him over it, sucking his tongue, catching an indecipherable noise as he bucks and shakes under you, the hot pulse of him inside you combined with his fingers hard into your hips pulling you over, too. You cling and whimper, circling hard as he comes down watching you peak, mouth parted less to catch his breath and more in shameless enjoyment.

“ _Fuckin’_ love watching you,” Joel whispers against your mouth, emphasizing profanity since you’d teased him for seeming shy of it. (In response, he’d pinned you down and weaponized it into growled commands until you’d come.) It has the same effect now, aftermath of undoing him, edge in his voice hitting you as you clench with a final spasm and curl into his arms, shivery and out of your body, too overwhelmed to kiss him. His smile curls against your shoulder, resting his mouth there more than explicitly kissing you, content to be connected however possible a moment longer.


End file.
